


My Headphones are Broken Again

by Insomnomaniac



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Other, Shitty poetry-adjacent crap, Vent Piece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2017-12-22
Packaged: 2019-02-18 06:56:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13094790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insomnomaniac/pseuds/Insomnomaniac
Summary: I don't even know why I'm posting this.





	My Headphones are Broken Again

My headphones are broken again. Every time they shift even slightly static crackles in my ears, and sometimes the sound itself disappears entirely from the one side, leaving me heavy and unbalanced. For now it can be fixed, but the fix is always only a temporary one and the static is becoming both stronger and harder to banish. I know that soon it will get to a point where no amount of fidgeting will make the static go away, and then my headphones will have to be discarded again in favor of a new pair.  
  
I still have my last pair of headphones. They lay on the cluttered surface of my dresser, useless and collecting dust. It’s amazing how much dust can accumulate on something in seemingly so little time. After being left alone for only a few months they look as though they’d been there for decades, centuries maybe, like an artifact in a museum; gone unused for so long that one begins to wonder whether it ever had a purpose in the first place, or if it was always nothing more than broken junk.  
  
I have a lot of junk in here. Mostly old papers that I never bothered to toss, along with those slips of cardboard that earrings come on, a plastic dancing solar flower that never moved in the first place, pairs of child’s sunglasses far too small for my face, and a vase full of long-dead flowers once artificially bright, among other things.  
  
None of it serves any purpose, not even in the most simplistic of ways. After all, some useless things are at least still pretty to look at, but this junk is truly nothing more than that; junk. It does nothing but clutter and waste space, but for whatever reason it hasn’t been disposed of. Perhaps out of laziness, perhaps out of fear, or perhaps out of sentimentality. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that it’s still here, still ugly, broken, and still taking up space that could be better used for something important. 

 

My head[phones are] is broken again. Every time [they] I shift even slightly static crackles in my [ears] brain, and sometimes the [sound] soul itself disappears entirely --------, leaving me heavy and unbalanced. For now it can be fixed, but the fix is always only a temporary one and the static is becoming both stronger and harder to banish. I know that soon it will get to a point where no amount of fidgeting will make the static go away, and then [my headphones] I will have to be discarded ----------.  
  
I still ----------------------------- lay on the cluttered surface ----------, useless and collecting dust. It’s amazing how much dust can accumulate on something in seemingly so little time. After being [left] alone for only a few months [they] I ------------ one begins to wonder whether [it] I ever had a purpose in the first place, or if [it] I was always nothing more than broken junk.  
  
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------long dead-------- once artificially bright----------------------------------------  
  
[None of it serves] I don’t serve any purpose, not even in the most simplistic of ways. After all, some useless things are at least still pretty to look at, but [this junk is] I am nothing more than that; junk. [It does] I do nothing more than clutter and waste space, but for whatever reason [it hasn’t] I haven’t been disposed of. Perhaps out of laziness, perhaps out of fear, or perhaps out of sentimentality. Whatever the reason, the fact remains that [it’s] I’m still here ---------------------- taking up space ---------------------


End file.
